


Quiet Greetings (Silver Drips From My Mouth)

by dreamtowns



Series: our hope is a weapon [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe - Assassins, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mild Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 01:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15786192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtowns/pseuds/dreamtowns
Summary: It begins with a heartbeat."You have a, uh, visitor," Masayuki sighs.(or: how Furihata Kouki met Akashi Masaomi and, somehow, gained his approval.)





	Quiet Greetings (Silver Drips From My Mouth)

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Kuroko no Basuke | The Basketball Which Kuroko Plays. It belongs to its' mangaka, Fujimaki Tadatoshi. This is for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> anon asked me about masaomi meeting furihata...and, well, i got carried away :') this was supposed to go in My Blood is Poison, but i couldn't fit it in. 
> 
> This isn't Beta'd at all lol so i apologize for any mistakes. This also delves into how i see Masaomi as both a character + a father, though I know not everyone may have the same perspective as me. regardless, please enjoy! and yes. i will be updating Ichor in My Blood soon!

“You have a, uh, visitor,” Masayuki sighs, rubbing a hand on the side of his face. He looks exasperated, absolutely done with whomever this ‘visitor’ is. “Just…put on fancy clothes.”

 _Fancy?_ Furihata has more questions but Masayuki leaves him to change. As he unplugs his phone, he closes his eyes, quiets his breaths, and listens. Masayuki’s heartbeat is easy to pinpoint, the smooth _bump-ba-bump-ba-bump_ is relaxing to his ears. There is another heartbeat, one that goes _bump-bu-bump-ba-bump_ in the kitchen.

Furihata opens his eyes and thinks, _ah. I know this heart._

“Ah, good afternoon, Kōki-kun,” Akashi Masaomi greets when he walks into the kitchen. 

The man looks pleasant, appears benign, but Furihata has spent his entire life surrounded by masks and facades, and has spent years picking them apart piece by piece. This man is cunning. This man is cutthroat when he wishes to be. This is the man who created a business empire when he was just shy of eighteen years old. This is the man who leads a bloodthirsty brigade for Teikō’s ultimate destruction.

“G-Good afternoon,” Furihata replies, stumbling over his words as he seats himself across from the man.

At the head of the table, Masayuki raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, and takes a sip from his coffee mug.

“Would you mind having lunch with this old man?” Masaomi inquires, his smile charming and serene. Furihata blinks at the question. “I’d like to get to know the boy Seijūrō is besotted with, after all.”

Sachiko chokes on her miso, laughing.

Furihata sputters, mind freezing at the mans’ statement. He doesn’t know what to say, what to think, what to do. “U-Um…”

“You don’t mind, do you, Masacchi?” Masaomi questions, glancing imploringly in Masayuki’s direction.

Furihata blinks at the nickname. He had no idea Masayuki and Masaomi were friends.

“If you don’t bring him back in one piece,” Masayuki warns, idly picking underneath his nails, “I’m going to upload the photos from the—.”

“Wonderful,” the redhead interrupts, and stands. He motions for Furihata to rise, and Masayuki snorts. “Shall we, Kōki-kun?”

Furihata has no choice but to agree.

The restaurant is high-class and expensive, the menus bearing no price markers, and Furihata is immensely relieved at his choice of dress upon crossing the threshold. The hostess leads them to their table. It’s a table for two, subtly secluded from prying eyes. The establishment has low lights and a color scheme of cream and black, with accents of silver here and there. It has a calming aura around it, and Furihata finds himself relaxing slightly as he settles himself across Akashi Seijūrō’s father.

A waiter bows upon pausing in front of their table and, without a word, pours a pale colored wine in Masaomi’s wine glass, and water in Furihata’s.

“Thank you,” Masaomi says.

The waiter bows and leaves on silent feet.

Furihata watches the man descend the steps leading to their table, memorizing the gait in his steps, the slant in his shoulders, the color of his eyes, before turning his attention onto the still-smiling Akashi Masaomi.

 _There’s something not right about that waiter,_ Furihata thinks, but temporarily shakes off his ominous feelings when Masaomi says, “How are you liking Seirin High, Kōki-kun?”

Slightly stunned at the question, Furihata replies, “It’s a wonderful school. The small class size is nice, and the teachers are very responsive when you need help.”

 _Unlike Teikō,_ Furihata thinks, _where failure was not an option._

You were sentenced to death or the White Room if you failed in the Academy, whether that failure was a test or a mission. Furihata knows many of his peers would prefer death instead of that horrid room.

“And basketball?” the man asks. “I’d like to congratulate you on your spectacular win against Rakuzan. Seijūrō was pouting for weeks,” he adds with a fond gleam in his eyes. “It was quite adorable, you know?”

“Um…the team is great,” Furihata says, thinking of his club and its’ members. He grows fonder of them as every day passes, grows accustomed to the way Fukuda and Kawahara drag him into their shenanigans, to the way Coach wields her fan with such accuracy it should be classified as a weapon itself, to the way Izuki can’t last an hour without dropping at last three puns. “They’re like…a found family, almost,” Furihata adds, echoing the words Koganei and Riko said during their intervention.

Masaomi hums, and the waiter returns.

“Are you gentlemen ready to order?” he asks. “I would recommend our chef’s special…”

The waiters’ voice fades as Furihata drinks in his features. The male is considerably attractive, especially at certain angles, Furihata notes in the back of his mind, and his eyes are a curious bright blue. Outwardly, the waiter is soft lines and smiles, with warm words spilling off his tongue. Inwardly, Furihata senses something sinister, something dark that festers underneath his skin.

“—and what would you like, sir?” the waiter questions.

“The chicken Bolognese, please,” Furihata replies with a quick glance at the menu.

The waiter bows, takes their menus, and walks away.

Masaomi takes a sip from his wine and distracts Furihata with a question about what he wished to do after high school. Furihata is floored for a moment before he recovers and gives him his detailed plan at being a detective.

When Furihata first moved in with Sawako, they watched a detective drama over takeout boxes. He found himself fascinated with the procedures, and the investigations, and the overall knowledge detectives seemed to have. There were various skills a detective had that Furihata has been honing since birth.

“Hmm, dangerous business, that,” Masaomi murmurs. “And what if that plan fails?” he asks, eyes glinting with curiosity.

Furihata then tells the man of his plans to be a freelance journalist. As Masaomi subtly interrogates him, the waiter delivers their food. Furihata eats in small doses, sensitive to any peculiar tastes and changes. He keeps an eye on Masaomi as well, as he cuts into a perfectly cooked salmon.

 _There is something off about that waiter_ , Furihata thinks, his stomach sinking uncomfortably.

Furihata was raised as an assassin. He was raised with the blood of his victims pooling at his feet.

His instincts are rarely wrong.

As they eat, Masaomi continues his quiet interrogation. Furihata is amused at the way the man assumes he is oblivious to the pointed questions and launches his subtle debrief about the man’s business. The redhead indulges his questions, and soon Furihata is entertained by the passionate way the man discusses his business and their affiliates. It isn’t so dissimilar from the way Akashi Seijūrō talks of his horse, or basketball, or shogi.

The man manages to wheedle out the fact that most of Furihata’s friends are dead, most of his family is dead, his parents are dead, and he was kidnapped when he was only two years old. Furihata catches himself when he is about to spill darker secrets to the older Akashi (like the first time he broke a man’s neck, and slit someone’s throat, and watched a friend die in front of his face).

He eats the rest of his pasta, and silently wonders at how Masaomi has wrangled more out of him than the actual therapist Masayuki and Hajime insists he sees three times a month.

“You’ve had quite the life, Kōki-kun,” Masaomi says once they’ve both polished their plates. The man’s eyes are a little dark, a little unfathomable, when he asks, “Have your captors been apprehended?”

Furihata shakes his head.

Hayashi Katsu was dead, yes, but there were other teachers who managed to escape, and Furihata loathes to admit it but he dreads the day one of them knocks on his front door to drag him back to the world he left behind.

“I see,” he murmurs.

The unsettling waiter brings their check, but Masaomi hands him a shining card before the man could set the black book on the table. Furihata watches the dark-haired waiter leave, silently memorizing the rhythm of his heart.

When the check is paid for, Masaomi stands and asks, “Would you care for a stroll, Kōki-kun?”

Furihata shakes his head. “I wouldn’t mind.”

There is still the threat of assassins targeting Unit Miracle. Despite his concern, despite the danger, Furihata walks side-by-side with Akashi Masaomi. The man holds amiable conversation, one that ranges from the state of Japan’s economy to his thoughts on different breeds of cats, and Furihata finds that the man who built an empire from the ground is quite an eccentric person.

As they walk in random direction, Furihata notes of the way the crowd thins until they are the only ones’ walking. He doesn’t recognize the underdeveloped area, and he tenses at the way the wind swirls ominously around them.

“My, seems like we’re lost,” Masaomi chuckles. He takes out his phone. “Let me call my—,”

A gunshot echoes.

Furihata moves before his mind registers the action. Just like with Kise, Furihata tackles Masaomi to the ground. The action causes the mans’ phone to skid a few feet away, clattering near a boarded shop. Furihata breathes through his nose as he looks up at the assailant, who sucks his teeth at missing his target.

“You’ve quick moves, kid,” the man grins. “Shame I gotta kill yah—you would’ve made a good assassin.”

Furihata smothers his snort at the irony.

“I’m sorry,” Masaomi says. His voice is dark and perilous, and Furihata shivers beside him. The CEO mistakes his shudders for fear and places a calming hand on Furihata’s forearm. He continues to smile, but the smile has lost its’ warmth. It is all sharp teeth and poisonous edges. “I’m afraid you have the wrong person.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” the assassin replies. “Akashi Masaomi. CEO of Akashi Corps.” His eyes narrow, and he smirks as he says, softly, “Father to Akashi Seijūrō, the leader of Unit Miracle.”

He aims his guns.

Masaomi tenses, subtly moving to shield Furihata, but Furihata hides his intent behind blank eyes. _He’s wide open,_ Furihata thinks to himself. _Overtly confident in his abilities._

Arrogance was a death sentence in the world of assassination.

The man presses his finger against the trigger, but Furihata (who is _so tired_ of watching the people he cares about die—he has only known Akashi Masaomi for a few hours, but the eccentric man has grown on him) is already behind him, a deathly, enraged presence at his back.

*

No one expects Furihata Kōki.

Not until he has a knife buried in their neck.

*

“You,” Akashi Masaomi says, quietly, calmly, “are an assassin. An alumnus from Teikō Academy.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Furihata says, pleads, as he stands over the assassin’s body. “Please.”

Masaomi tilts his head to the side, red eyes calculating, measuring, and asks, “Why do you want this to be a secret, Kōki-kun?”

“I want peace, Akashi-san,” Furihata whispers, blood dripping from his palm. “I just want _peace_.”

There is silence and then: “Masaomi,” the man says. “Call me Masaomi.”

Furihata blinks.

“Don’t worry about the body,” Masaomi says, too brightly for someone who almost got murdered. He waves his phone in the air. “I’ve texted my clean-up crew about the mess.”

 _I…I don’t want to know,_ Furihata thinks when he watches a dark van pull up to the curb. The men bow respectfully to Masaomi, and give him acknowledging nods, and get to work on clearing the crime scene. Masaomi observes the process with glinting eyes. _Don’t. Wanna. Know._

“Kōki-kun,” Masaomi says, gently resting a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get you home, yeah? Before Masacchi scolds me.”

For a moment, Furihata is confused. For a moment, he is back in the Academy, back in that lonely dormitory that used to house seven but now houses one. For a moment, he almost says _home? I don’t have one._ But then he blinks, and he remembers where he is, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing the memories of the world refusing to let him go. “Let’s…let’s go home.”

 _That’s right,_ Furihata thinks, warmly. _I have a home now._

**Author's Note:**

> So. I know I should be working on the next chapter of Ichor in My Blood (which I am!! it's almost done :0), I wanted to post this little one-shot that an anon requested I write :0 btw, i used to be @dreamingunderthetstars on AO3 and @sleepykenmas on tumblr -> i am now dreamtowns on AO3 + @sleepydekus on tumblr. 
> 
> i also have other little one-shots + drabbles that i wrote that i may or may not transfer onto here from my tumblr (ofc, if there's enough interest, i definitely will!)
> 
> EDIT 8/24: Please do not be afraid to request anything!!!


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